Devil And Daughter
by Najwa Kannika
Summary: I sat down next to him on the cold, hard wood of the pew, my hands folded neatly in my lap and legs crossed at the ankle. “Long time, no see.” I said. I don't know why. VxW Reincarnation - But not what you think.
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer: **The phrase "I own Trigun" is only a true sentance when followed or preceeded by "I wish". However plot line and any original character belongeth to me.

**AN:** So, this will be my first Multichapter that I'm posting (though I have several others planned, including a prequil to this), and, lo and behold, it's a Vash x Wolfwood. However, this will not be like anything that I've seen in this fandom before. The Idea, I'm hoping is entirely original (even though I know that in todays world, nothing ever is).  
I'll warn you now, it is a Reincarnation Fic, but of who, you'll just have to wait until later chapters to find out. There are some mature themes in this story and I don't really recomend it for people under thirteen (especially after chapter 8), that's why its rated 'T' for now. If I see fit however, I will raise the rating.

**Feed Back is Apreciated.**

**Prologue:  
**Denique Pacis

* * *

_'All worldly shapes shall melt in gloom'  
__The sun himself must die,  
__Til this mortal shall assume,  
__His immortality.'_

_Thomas Campbell – The Last Man  
_

* * *

_The sand beat against his broken body, the taste of blood and bile mingling in his mouth and burning his tongue as he trekked, ever forward through the endless sea of desert. The tails of his coat whipped about him, wraiths, following his footsteps. He smiled._

"_I bet you're laughing now." His voice ground against his throat, rising like gravel against his larynx. A single tear traveled down the subtle curve of his cheek, carving its way through streaks of blood and thicker things, that cracked and dried and then he bled again. Tears of molten silver, moon rays, trapped and wept._

_His heart hurt. The muscle spasming and pounding haphazardly against the broken cave of his chest._

_Fitting, he thought, to die of a broken heart, when it had been shattered for years._

"_I'll be there soon..." He whispered, grimacing in pain as more blood flecked the corners of his mouth, this body failing. Funny to think that those around him had once deemed him immortal, indestructible. How wrong they were._

_How pitifully wrong._

_Blackness started to invade his vision, shadows creeping in at the edges of his sight, and he welcomed it. To see you again, he thought, that's my only wish. The darkness was thicker now, a night that could barely be seen through, and dully he felt himself fall. Sand hit his knees and ground into his wounds, as he swayed precariously._

_That face flashed across his mind, and his smile gentled. Arms around him, and he sighed, greeting the warmth._

_Too long, it had been far to long since he had been held._

_Words were whispered into deaf ears as hearing left him, leaving only the slow halting beat of his heart. Oddly enough it didn't hurt. Hadn't hurt since that last blow. Shock finally taking over his body as he had been struck. Nerves severed, dead._

_He should hurt._

_It would only be right. Hell was supposed to hurt. To cleanse him of sin and deny him peace. It's what he deserved, too many years, too many lives lived, and loved, and lost. So much for just one man. He smiled – not physically, but in his heart, his soul._

_And he let go. _


	2. Preface

**Disclaimer: **No owneth, though I wish I didth. But plot and OC's are mine.

**AN:** I promise the later chapters won't be this short, and in the next chapter we meet the plot. A very big part of the plot. A gi-normous, huge-macular, spectacu-rific part...of.. the... I'll shut up now and let you read.

**Preface**

* * *

"_Look up at that moon, like a blood red eyeball glistening in the sky, staring down upon us, and recall that man's name, his legend. The time has come, and the only tale which should be told is that of the footsteps which continue into the future." _

_Vash the Stampede_

* * *

Once upon a time, on this barren pathetic excuse for a planet, there lived a legend. A specter in red that traveled from town to town, leaving nothing but destruction. It started with the death of July and left a legacy that would span across centuries.

No one knows how he came to be, or why he did what he did. No one ever understood what caused him to drift, what drove him forward through and endless wake of sand and time and death, just to save an already doomed race.

I heard him described, once, years after his death, as the Messiah born again only to die once more under the weight of our sins – the eyes of god on a planet without faith.

And so it was that his story was passed on from generation to generation, never dying out, never loosing face or fiber. A Sinner; A Saint; A Devil; A God. Each rendition so infallibly different and yet so unerringly the similar. The only thing that truly remains, unchanging, is the name.

Vash The Stampede.


	3. Dreams

**Disclaimer:** I.. no... ownage... ack! Damnit, why must you make me say it?

**AN: **I was originally planning to wait a little while longer to upload this chapter (as it has been sitting, finished, for quite a while) but impatience is a virtue. So here it is, the first REAL chapter of Devil and Daughter. Which was supposed to be posted a week from now, but a most lovely review from September's Nobara inspired me to put it up today. I hope you enjoy.

**Please, Feed back is appreciated!**

Chapter One:  
**Somnium**

* * *

_'Reality is merely an illusion, albeit a very persistent one.'_

_Albert Einstein _

* * *

My Mother never wore white.

She'd wear the palest of grays and creams, but never that _colour_. I remember that I was ten years old when I finally asked her why.

She was silent for a while before staring at me, a foreign emotion in her eyes, one her face should never wear, and never would again. Then she smiled whimsically and turned back to her cross stitching.

"It shows the stains far too easily."

I wouldn't understand until almost a decade later that she wasn't just referring to dirt.

It was the week after my eighteenth birthday and both my mother and her husband, for I so refused to call him father, were both at work. I had never been allowed in the attic, though I had tried many times to enter. Each time I was caught. Erick, mothers' spouse, would catch me by the ear and drag me down stairs, lumping me at mothers' feet. She'd stare at me with sad eyes and say; "I'll show you when you're older."

With the enthusiasm of youth, I thought that eighteen was plenty old enough.

I had been planning this for weeks, biding my time, silently waiting. Mother kept the key to the attic hatch in her music box, and the moment I heard the latch of our front door click I was there, prying apart the old, wooden lid from its old, wooden body. With clumsy haste I sifted through the array of chains, diamonds and, rarest of all, a complete set of pearls, until I found it, dull and rusted with age – a simple nickel key.

I practically flew up the stairs to the top floor, dragging the ladders with me. The lock to the hatch was in pristine condition, of course. Erick would never let anything that kept me innocent and ignorant degrade enough for me to break it. My fingers fumbled with the key, my clumsy nature coming back to bite me as I dropped it several times.

"Damn it!" I cursed, picking the thing up for the fifth time. Jerry was right when he joked I was born a klutz, and that blond suited me for just that reason.

Finally I jammed the small key into its hole and twisted it until I heard the lock click, and the hatch open – straight onto my head.

I filled the air with another stream of colorful curses that I could thank the local boys for, as I rubbed the now forming lump on my skull. Carefully I climbed through the narrow opening, coughing slightly with the dust that assaulted my nose and throat.

It was dark. The only window in the small cubby was coated in a thick layer of grime and hardly any light filtered through, even though it was high noon, not a single cloud in the sky. Boxes were strewn every where, decorated with cobwebs. I almost shrieked when a fuzzed, spindle of a leg brushed my hand. Safe to say I only squealed slightly, jumping out of the vicinity, promptly falling over a clothes rack and travel bags. A dust cloud billowed into the air as I hit the floor.

Quickly I righted myself, dusting off the material of my slacks, and headed for the nearest chest. It was metal, quite common, seen as wood was, as always, a precious commodity here on a planet made of sand.

Or at least it would have been common apart from the fact that my mother had an affinity for the material, and detested metal furnishings of any kind, even if it was just a storage box.

I raised an eyebrow, my curiosity peaked at the oddness of the object. With near silent steps I slid over to the box, fingers, for a second, simply dancing over its smooth finish, marveling slightly at the few dings and dents that had accumulated over the years.

I lifted the lid.

Expecting something miraculous or spectacular – jewels perhaps, gold or even, dare I think, a body – I was severely disappointed at the simple rough canvas that greeted my eyes. I sighed, my shoulders heaving before rolling my eyes and gently lifting the canvas out of place, setting it on the floor next to me. It was bound to gather dust, but I wasn't truly sure that I cared.

The first thing I saw was red. Mounds and mounds of red. With a certain degree of awe I ran my hands experimentally over the material. It was soft, yet undeniably strong, the feel of it weird in my hands. It was like no material I had ever seen before, the folds barely leaving an outline as I lifted it from the box. The wrinkles disappeared within a second and it hung there in my hands feeling as light as air, yet some how heavy – not physically, but the kind of feeling that you get you when you walk in a grave yard and the spirits seem to whisper 'come to us, you'll belong here too, soon enough.'

I shivered at my own morbidness.

A soft clink and a slink, like paper falling, met my ears as I stood, taking the coat with me. Looking down I couldn't help the crease that formed between my brows.

A pair of sunglasses.

A photograph.

Hesitantly I reached for the Polaroid, my fingers toying with the strange shades. The edges were faded, the bare colour of the picture turning to a dark sepia from the sheer age of the ink. Slowly my eyes looked it over. I have never been one to startle easily, perhaps a mild jump or muttered curse, but never true surprise.

I shot back, dropping the picture as though burned.

The image was of three people – A man and two women. I barely recognized the face of my mother, drawn as it was in the most honest smile I had ever seen on her lips. My aunt stood next to her, hardly a day younger than when she had died.

But it wasn't them that scared me so, they weren't the reason my eyes were wide as saucers, watering from the fear that if I blinked this photo would disappear.

His face was slender, high cheekbones and a soft jaw, lending him an almost feminine look. His nose was straight and strong, curved up just enough at the end to look cute. His skin was pale, like it had never seen a day of sun in all its existence. Spiked hair reached for the sky, black except for the minutest streak of blond at the crest of his fore head.

His eyes sparkled, a crystalline aqua.

He looked like me.

My heart thudded frantically in my chest, breath coming painfully sharp. I was almost sure I was shaking. My eyes tore from his face, settling on the dust of the floor in defense. My mind was screaming at me to run. My heart whispered that I should stay.

With shaking fingers I grasped once more at the faded photograph. Still my eyes avoided him, focusing instead on the light blue of the sky that you could barely see through the buildings in the pictures back ground.

It was a second or two before my mind kick started and the questions came. How? Why?...and most importantly, who?

Slowly, oh so slowly, I drew my eyes back to his face, almost flinching at the reflection of my self that I saw there. It was perfect, right down to the small birth mark below the left eye. My face, only sharper, more masculine.

He was smiling widely, a friendly gesture – it didn't reach his eyes. It was artificial and manufactured. I should know, I wore one like it often enough. It was the smile of a person who so desperately wanted to give up, but was far too stubborn for their own good.

It was false.

A lie.

I was beginning to wonder just how much was true. My life, my personality; was that fake too? I'd never had a _real_ father, but the likeness between myself and this man was too uncanny to be a simple coincidence.

Suddenly the sadness in my mothers eyes finally made sense – She saw Him when she looked at me.

An idle part of my brain that wasn't numbed by the shock, wondered if Erick knew.

With undue haste I shoved the picture back in the box, stuffing the coat and canvas back over the top before slamming down the lid.

I ran.

It wasn't until I was back in my room, panting against the closed door that I realized I still had His sunglasses in my hand.

* * *

"Are you alright, Hera?" Mother's voice shook me from my daydream and I turned to glance at her across the dinning table.

"Of course I am." Giving her my best smile, internally I frowned, beneath the cover of the table cloth my hands were still shaking. I couldn't help it. "Just thinking about things, that's all. Finals are coming up, years almost over."

She nodded in understanding, taking another bite of the Tomas steak Erick had cooked for dinner. I pushed my lettuce around my plate, distracted, refusing to touch the meat. I'd been vegetarian since I was twelve, but he always insisted that I should eat what I was given. It was safe to say I got most of my meals else where.

"Have you decided what college you're going to yet?" He asked, voice dripping sugar. I had to physically restrain myself from flinching.

I hated that voice.

My shoulders rose in a half shrug. "Not sure. I was thinking about Mei City State." I'd said the same thing each night since I had gotten the acceptance letters back. Truth was I didn't really even want to go to college. Academics had never interested me as much as they had my mother, and I found lectures unbearably boring. But mother wanted me to follow in her footsteps.

Law was in the Stryfe blood, after all.

Mother clucked disapprovingly. "Saint Martha's Academy in New Oregon would be better. I hear they have a wonderful Pre-Magisterial program." I resisted the urge to roll my eyes – here we go again. "Besides," she continued. "It's closer."

I nodded slowly, not really listening any more and the conversation shifted to Erick's work on the local Plant. Apparently it's 'energy levels' had been strange lately, what ever that meant.

"It's almost like the old girls having a tantrum!" He joked with a laugh that sounded as hollow as an empty bottle of whiskey.

Sighing I rose, picking up my plate and taking it over to the sink.

"Going out?"

I glanced at Erick over my shoulder, trying to keep my face as neutral as possible – it was getting easier and easier each year. "Jeremiah's band has got a gig at ASK tonight. I'm going to cheer him on." I answered in an automatic monotone.

"My," mother breathed. "They certainly are getting popular lately, aren't they?" She smiled, sweetly at me. "Give Jerry my love, wont you?"

With a bob of my head I ducked out of the room and practically ran upstairs, nearly slamming the door behind me.

The sunglasses blinked up at me from the night stand.

"What?" I asked them, glaring. They just sat there and twinkled, smugly. I swear if they'd have had a mouth they'd have smirked. Damn glasses.

Mentally chastising myself for talking to inanimate objects, I paced over to my dresser, pulling out a pair of black heavy jeans and a tight turtleneck. I muttered inanely to myself as I changed, pulling on a pair of boots almost as an afterthought.

I was half way out the door when they caught my eye again.

They just sat there, sparkling in the dimming light. Yellows lenses, dark metal 'W' frames. As though in a trance I paced over to my night stand and gently ran my finger along the wood next to them, wondering.

The world was tinged a bright amber when I walked out the door, yelling a good bye.

* * *

ASK was a small bar on the other side of town, not really much to look at all things considered, but it was the most popular place in Brooklyn, December State, these days. It was rare to pass it by with out seeing at least twenty or more teenagers lined up waiting impatiently to enter.

I grinned as I spied the building. It was barely dark, but already the line up to get in was two blocks long, excited chatter filling the air. Jeremiah was struggling with a guitar amp near the side door, balancing precariously on one leg.

"Need a hand?" I asked, walking over and taking some of the weight off him.

He huffed, face red. "Damn, these things get heavier every show!"

Chuckling we struggled through the small door and into the bar's backstage area where Elijah and Middy were setting up their abused drum kit. Neither acknowledged our entrance, absorbed in their work. I heard a crash from the high hat as I glanced about for an area to dump the amp.

"Just stick it next to the Synth." Jerry inclined his head over to the right side of the stage and we shuffle stepped over to the Keyboard set up there. The amp landed with a thud and I dusted my hands off, attempting to get the feeling back in my fingers as Jerry lit up a cigarette.

"Must you smoke?" I ask, more out of habit by now than anything else.

He grins. "Yup."

And thats that. I turn, shooting him a wink over my shoulder. "Good luck!" A backwards wave and I'm through the curtain and down the stairs of the stage, mingling with the other bodies on the dance floor. Lost. The way I like to be.

Smirking slightly to myself I claimed one of the stools that littered the bar area and waved to the tender.

"What'll it be, hun?" She asked, a southern drawl littering her words making her sound just shy of lazy.

My smirk widened. "Cola, please." She pouted slightly at my choice, an inexpensive order, flipping dark hair out of her face as she went about getting my drink. Truth be told, I couldn't stand alcohol. The smell bothered me.

I stared, half in a dream, at the stage through a haze of smoke and flashing lights as Jerry paced out on stage, his dark hair absorbing and reflecting the different colors of neon that flitted about the club. He looked good, too good. I grinned silently to myself. Gone was the dorky little boy I had known, with the bowl cut hair, horn rimmed glasses, and the disposition of an angel.

We'd pretty much grown up together. He was a Thompson – in relation to the Stryfe's, we might as well have been brother and sister, joined at the hip. Though back then he was the cautious scholar and I had been the overly brash tom-boy. Not much had changed, really. Apart from his looks.

Dark hair and gold tone skin – an inheritance from his father, I was told – And as tall as any of his cousins. He was every girls idol in this town, the poster boy for 'drop dead gorgeous', I was sure a group of girls at my school had even started a fan club. Broad shoulders and a muscled figure, combined with his dark hair and baby blue eyes made sure that he caught every ones attention. Even mine, a long while ago.

But add all that with his voice and you had a thing that only heaven could touch on.

I listened, idly stirring my now warming cola, eyes closed. Lights blinked across my blackened eyelids and I hummed along with each different tune, my mind playing out guitar chords and finger placements. I couldn't help but silently sway in my seat, and dream the night away.

* * *

Half time for the gig cam far too early. One second there I am singing along, the next I'm forced to listen to some new mainstream band from Septembre. I pouted insolently and heard a chuckle from my left.

"Enjoy the show?" He asked, flicking sweat soaked hair from his eyes and grinning at me. I returned the expression, nodding vehemently.

"Kick ass." I intoned, sagely, waving to Middy as she bound over to us.

Sliding her arms around my shoulders she smirked. "How's about a kiss for the best damn Drummer in the world?"

Her expression was so ridiculously hopeful that I had to laugh. "Keep dreaming, Darlin'." I said, imitating the waitresses accent and flicked her nose. She pouted and winked at me before slinking off to find another girl to harass, a sway in her hips. I rolled my eyes at Jerry and he coughed to vainly stifle a laugh.

"Who's up next?" I asked, toying with the swizzle stick of my drink.

"Some new lot," he glanced toward the stage where the next band was setting up. I eyed the small group with bemusement, they couldn't have been a day over fifteen.

"A little young aren't they?"

"Doesn't mean they aren't good." I 'hmm'-ed in speculative agreement before sipping at my cola.

It was quiet for a while, a good minute or so before I realized that he was staring at me. Raising an eyebrow I turned his way. "What?"

As an answer he reached over and tapped the twisted metal frames that rested on my ears. "New?" He asked, a smile in his eyes. "They're unique, I'll give you that." I shrugged.

"Found them in the attic."

He straightened in his seat, staring at me intently. "Attic?" The word was sharp, clipped, and full of accusation. "You didn't..."

"I did." Silence, then -

"Tell. Now."

I smiled slightly, pushing the shades further up my nose. "There's not much to tell. Just a box with a some old junk in it." I hoped he didn't hear the slight unsteadiness of my voice.

"Don't lie to me, Vash." No such luck.

"There was a coat." I started, staring at my hands, folded on the bar top. "And a picture."

He quirked his head to the side in a silent question.

"There was a man," I glanced at him out the corner of my eye, gaging his reaction. "He – He looked just like me." I couldn't help the stutter, and was glad he couldn't see the tremor of my shoulders in the flickering lights.

"Like you?" He asked, confusion painting his face.

"Eyes, face," I replied. "Everything, Jere'. Right down to the goddamn smile." I paused. "It scared me, Jeremiah. Shook me up."

He leaned back in his seat, nodding in understanding. "What do you think it means?"

I shrugged balefully, closing my eyes, hoping to block out the world. "I don't know, Jere, I haven't got a clue."

It was past midnight when I left.

* * *

That night I dreamed.

When I was younger I would dream each night. Pace his footsteps on a floor I had never walked, in halls I had never seen, but knew so intimately – Each turn, each incline, each minuscule, barely there dent in the metal that made the walls. Places I could never have imagined, and that, in my waking hours, were cloaked as though with a veil of cotton. Vague, obscure visions. But for those few moments after opening my eyes I would remember, I would realize.

I was Him, but not.

I was me, but not.

I told my mother when I was four years old. Stood there and recanted each detail that I could. The first time she stood there for a while, a haunted look on her face as I told her about the man in red, with the soft eyes and the kind smile. Then she laughed at me – a nervous thing, and told me to go play out side.

Eventually I repeated it enough that she broke. She yelled and screamed and wept. Tears and shouts for some one I had never met, but knew so instinctively that it hurt.

I didn't dream again after that, not for fourteen years. Not until that night.

It was different from the rest, clearer, yet some how not. Like when you try to grasp for a memory from the days before you could really think. Distant, out of reach, but still there.

The colors were blurred, each image a mesh of shapes that bled together in my mind, hazy and indistinct.

There was a man, in black. He laughed at me, holding up a bottle of something – I couldn't read the label – asked a question and waited for an answer. My mouth moved in reply, but His voice came out, and I felt myself smile.

"Another drink, Tongari?" he had asked.

"Not tonight, Nick." I had replied.

My feet carried themselves over to a bed and my body sat heavily on the uncomfortable mattress. I looked at the man in black. He didn't seem quite so happy anymore.

"You need to stop this, Vash." My heart lept at the sound of my name and He sighed. "It's not natural."

A bitter laugh. I think it was mine.

"What about me is, Nick?"

And I woke up.

But this time, I remembered the face that I had seen reflected in the window of the old hotel. A thin, weary face, a birth mark.

And those sad, infinite, aqua eyes.

* * *

**Please R+R, my in-box is hungry.**


	4. Day by Day Lives

**Disclaimer:** No Owneth I

**AN: **I wasn't going to post this for another few days - but again, my reviewers put me into action (thank you so much guys, you know who you are). And so here we go, the second real chapter in this monster of an epic, not to mention that once again that thing called 'plot' rears it's ugly little head. Just as a little side note, this is where the 'T' rating come into play for minor violence.

Note: I will be going through and re-editing all of the chapters as September's Nobara has pointed out several grammatical errors that my BETA missed.

Chapter Two:

**Dies Ut Dies Vita**

* * *

_'Don't Part with your illusions, When they are gone you may still exist, but you have ceased to live.'_

_Mark Twain_

* * *

_She watched him, movements calculated and precise, each blink perfectly timed to look natural. She just sat and watched, as she had every day for almost nine hundred years._

_Nine hundred years, simply waiting, for her Father, her Master, for he had bid her so._

_Carefully she typed out a code into one of the numerous consoles that littered the room, long fingers easily tapping out the memorized stream of numbers and commands. Somewhere in the dark a speaker beeped and a light blinked on, illuminating the room with an odd, green glow._

_A soft hum came from the Bulb, almost a sigh, high and melodic. The angel, though she could not be seen, sent out wave after wave of energy and a smile formed upon the child's face. _

"_Welcome back, sleepy head." She sang, stroking one hand along the glass. "You've been sleeping for a long time." A soft murmur answered her, as though in agreement. "Now," she continued, still smiling broadly. "You have something that belongs to my Master."_

_Through the steam and smog that made up the Bulb's center a darkening shape emerged, tall and wide, and unmistakably human. A soft thud resounded through the air as the body hit the glass bottom and the girl giggled._

"_Oh, Father will be pleased."_

_The priest's eyes flickered open, hazily and looked out upon the world for the first time in almost nine hundred years._

* * *

His face haunted me the next morning, never leaving my mind as I showered and dressed for school, hastily pulling on the blue skirt and sweater. It was like I was walking in the dream. My body had woken up, but my mind was still there, trapped with the man in red who had stolen my face.

Jogging down the stairs I almost tripped on air, barely managing to keep my balance as I took the steps two at a time and raced into the kitchen. I gave my mother the mandatory nod and ignored Erick, as usual. I think I saw him frown.

"Morning," I breathed, slightly out of breath as I grabbed my travel mug and kissed her on the cheek. She smiled and passed me a croissant which, as always I declined.

"You should eat breakfast, you know, Hera." A chastisement I was used to.

Laughing I hugged her. "I know, I know. Its the most important meal of the day." She glared up at me from the embrace. "Oh, alright," I groaned. "I'll get something on the way to school." With one last squeeze I let her go and raced out the front door, grabbing my bag as I went.

Jeremiah was waiting at the bottom of the foot path. I grinned. The man was a god.

"Thought you might want breakfast," he smiled devilishly, holding up the box of donuts. "Hurry up, they're still warm." Yup, definitely a god.

"Woo!" I raced down the path hugging him while deftly stealing the box from his hands. "I really do love you sometimes." I grinned like the maniac I was as I opened the box, picking up my first victim and devouring it deftly as I walked along the pavement.

"Hey," he groaned, jogging slightly to catch up with me, his bag bouncing against his back. "I paid for them, I should at least get one."

I pouted, stuffing another of the baked little angels into my mouth. "buph dere pho goood..." I whined around the cumbersome delicacy in my mouth. He gave me this weird look, half disapproving and half about to burst into hysterics. He chose the latter while whacking me on the head.

"Don't talk with your mouth full." Honestly, some times the boy was far to much like my mother.

I swallowed painfully. "I can do what ever I want, its a free City." Though I was sure my parents didn't know it.

He shrugged lopsidedly and turned the corner. "Trouble at home?"

"Nope." Sighing I scuffed a toe against the asphalt. "He was actually good last night."

A raised eye brow and a relived release of breath. "Great, I was kinda worried when I dropped you off."

Looking at him, I smiled. "Remind me again why you don't have a girl friend?" He just laughed and walked through the gates to the school, instantly being swamped by his fan club who were praising him for the show last night.

With a slight shake of my head I pushed through the crowd leaving him to deal with the sharks, I wasn't very good in crowds – shy, my mother called it. People-phobic was more like it. Large groups of people just made me nervous. So I hovered near the entrance until the bell rang, shrill and sharp, then joined the wave of students that headed through the doors.

Just another day.

* * *

English passed as a blur, with Bobby Cauldron constantly poking me in the back as usual. But I didn't turn round this time to whine at him to stop, I just stared out the window, too lost in day dreams and questions.

Math I actually had to pay attention to, it utterly confused me, and it was made even worse by my constantly wondering mind. Numbers had never been my strongest asset.

During break I just hung out in the bathroom, stood in front of the mirrors staring at my self, dazed. I was sure any one who walked in thought I was going insane – I think they might have been right.

I couldn't help it, not really. Every time I looked in the mirror I was seeing two people. The man from the Photograph and myself. His face all sharp angles, mine simply the softer, rounder version. Idly I played with one of the ringlets in my hair, twisting it about my finger in a spiral.

I don't even know why I continued to keep it in curls, the effort required to maintain it was slowly driving me crazy. But – Oh, yes, now I remember – Mother liked me with long curly hair, said it made me look like a lady. I scowled at my reflection and she scowled back.

I'd never wanted to be a lady.

With a sigh I turned and headed for the door, it was time for Physics, and I wasn't about to miss one of the few classes I actually liked.

* * *

The bell rang for lunch at 12:05, as always. The shrill sound starting a mass migration to the cafeteria. Reluctantly I drew my head out of the equations I was immersed in and packed my bag. I barely noticed Jeremiah creeping up behind my shoulder.

"You doin' okay?" he asked, pulling out the chair to my right and sitting down. "You've been really distant all day."

I shrugged, half heartedly. "Just thinking, I guess."

He nodded silently before standing again. "You join' us for lunch?"

"Sure."

The lunch hall was packed, three years of the school all crammed like sardines into one small cafeteria. It was pure luck that we managed to grab a table – Middy had saved us seats.

Pinned between her and Elijah (and dodging Middy's ever wondering hands), I pulled out my lunch and began to eat what food I had brought; Sandwich, slice of pizza and two donuts. I almost grinned, it was practically healthy, for me. I literally inhaled my meal barely paying any mind to the conversation going on around me. Instead I sat devising ways to once again break into the attic.

I knew I had to go there again, sift through the boxes contents until I found an answer. And If I couldn't find it there, in that dusty little corner, then I would confront Mother, and ask out right if she knew the man in red.

A sharp jab to my side bought me back to reality, and I glared at Elijah only to catch him smirking at me.

"Ah!" He exclaimed, feigning shock. "It lives!" Middy chuckled around her spoon before shoveling in another mouthful of jelly.

"What?" I whined, stuffing another donut into my mouth.

"We were talking about going to December Main on spring break." Jeremiah grinned, leaning forward. "What do ya think?"

Middy was nodding emphatically, as Elijah interjected that he could borrow his mother's Camp Truck for the ride.

I sat there, just mildly confused. "But, why?" I asked. "It's not like there's much to do there..."

I got three identical looks of disbelief in return.

"You mean you haven't heard?" My only female ally at the table asked, one perfect eyebrow raised.

"Heard what?"

To my left I felt Eli' sigh. "Oh, nothing," he remarked sarcastically. "Only the hugest festival on the face of Gunsmoke since The Fall." He glared at me playfully, gray eyes still smirking. "We've only been talking about it for weeks."

I shrugged, turning back to my donuts – only one left now – and grinned. "Not my fault you don't speak loud enough."

Jeremiah rolled his eyes. "Look, do you want to come or not?"

"Sure," I said, halfheartedly, not really caring then. "Why not?"

* * *

"Uncle!" I cried, beating a fist into the ground and making the kids around me giggle, though the boy on my back didn't let up on his hold. "Uncle! I give!"

School had gotten out barely fifteen minutes ago and, upon stepping from within the confines of the school grounds, had found myself attacked by the most devilish of all monsters – children.

Their leader crouched down, eye patch clinging to his head, skewed. "Arr, ye give up do ya, you scurvy dog?"

I whimpered, wiggling in the first mates hold. "Oh!" I cried. "Wont some handsome hero save me!"

On cue the tallest of the bunch – a girl I recognized as one of the Morrison twins swept in, brandishing a toy sword. "Back!" She waved the sword menacingly. "Back you, for I, Vash the Stampede am here!"

I chuckled inwardly at her role, she'd even dug out and donned an over sized red sweater to act as the coat.

"My hero!" I intoned, making my voice a high falsetto.

We played till dark, a game of sheriff breaking out soon after I had been 'rescued'. As always, though, I was the outlaw. Can't a girl get even one break? I grinned chasing Jimmy Roberts around a corner, herding him back to the other kids.

There was nothing like acting your shoe size, rather than your age.

* * *

The next few days passed in a haze. Jeremiah and the others talking of nothing but the Independence Day Festival or their next gig – ASK had invited them back for another night. Friday and a prime time spot, it meant a huge breakthrough for the group. It was hard not to catch the excitement bug, but still, in the back of my mind the box hovered, a weight on my shoulders that wouldn't be dislodged.

I was beginning to get desperate.

My parents were never out of the house, Erick keeping a closer eye than usual, and I wondered for a split second, if maybe he knew?

By Thursday Elijah had procured his mother's van, a banged up old Ford S-type who's engine stuttered and belched, but she'd do, he said, to get us there and back. There were, after all, only two weeks now until the day. Jeremiah had also managed to find us accommodations – A cousin said he'd be willing to put us up, for a minimal fee and we'd practically jumped at the offer.

It wasn't until that night I got my second chance.

* * *

The striking of the midnight hour found me once again sitting on the dusty floor of the attic.

I knew it was risky to do this with Mother and Erick both asleep down stairs, but I couldn't help it.

It had been disturbingly easy to sneak past their room – the door for once being closed, and had taken no time at all to open the hatch and climb the stairs. The box called to me, and I wasn't yet sure why, unless it was simply an act of my own curiosity, which, being well acquainted with my survival instinct, was a possibility.

The coat sat, a heap of red, upon my lap and I stroked the material with a lazy hand, just staring. I found myself actually rather fond of it – the weight of it, they way it felt in my hands, and the way that the silver buttons gleamed if you turned them just-so.

I wondered what it would feel like to wear.

Down stairs I heard the ominous creak of a floor board and a whispered murmur. Next thing I knew there were footsteps on the stairs.

_Shit._

I scrambled backwards, dragging the coat with me. The foot falls were too heavy to be Mum. With a sharp intake of breath I panicked.

Frantically I darted my eyes about, searching for a hiding place.

I wasn't going to be fast enough. Scrabbling I dived behind a particularly decayed crate, using the coat as a cover, I peeked out through a small gap, panting heavily.

The hatch opened, raised by a single _male_ hand.

I gulped in silence, praying to God that he didn't know I was here.

There was only quiet once he had pulled himself up, through the small opening to the attic. Nothing to fill the air apart from my own heart beat which seemed far too loud in my ears, adrenaline and fear making it thud erratically. I was sure he could hear it.

A slight shuffle and a step.

"Girl, you in here?"

I closed my eyes and tried to steady my breathing. I recognized the tone of his voice – Gravelly and slow, sleep and drink mixed into one.

"Girl?" He barked, louder this time. I almost whimpered.

I felt more than heard him crouch down, probably looking at the disarray I had left the trunk in. Oh God, I prayed, please don't let him know.

More shuffles, the sound drifting further away, and some of the tension in my shoulders released.

There was a sudden wind at my back – a sickening crunch and thud – then I hit the wall.

"Stupid Girl." He breathed, his breath thick and hot. I writhed already feeling the bruises forming on my back, and cringed. I was pinned, effectively. His hands gripping my wrists as he leaned closer, that look in his eyes, and I nearly screamed.

"You know you're not allowed up here, sweetheart." He whispered, his voice a parody of the one he used around my mother, and I glared.

I didn't see the fist headed for my gut until it was too late. Like a ton of bricks the punch hit me, locking up my diaphragm and forcing the air from my lungs. I gasped and wheezed, doubling over. Pain like a thousand tiny needles emanating from my ribs and gut.

There was another crash down stairs, followed by frantic footsteps.

"Erick! Hera!" My mothers voice reached my ears, though it was hazy as I tried vainly to suck in the needed oxygen. "Erick!"

I fought with the black slowly invading my vision, curled pathetically around my pain.

I don't know how I got back to my room, I passed out shortly after. And despite my unconsciousness, I still dreamed.

* * *

We were in another hotel room, dank and dusty - I think I smelt the faint odor of cigarettes. The light was a dull gold – midday. A half finished bottle of whiskey sat on the night stand, two glasses lay beside it. One full, One empty. I couldn't help thinking there was something slightly prophetic in that.

I heard soft footsteps and He turned, facing once again the mysterious Man in Black.

"You're back?" He asked, words slurred slightly. "Didn't think you'd come..."

The Man in Black scrunched up his face in distaste, cigarette hanging limply from his mouth. A second later his expression fell and he shrugged – just one shoulder – a simple, lazy action. "Wasn't sure you'd have me."

I felt the pained look cross my face as He looked up, imploringly. "You honestly think I'd turn you away?"

"I killed a kid, Vash." He barked out a bitter laugh. "That shouldn't be something so easy to forgive."

He sighed, lips letting out a tiny burst of air and stared at his leather clad hands. "It's not."

Silence fell between us, and the Man in Black dragged a chair to the other side of the table, sitting and pouring himself a drink from the abandoned bottle.

Neither talked for a long time and I almost felt that I would go insane with the quiet.

"Why?" It took me a second to realize that it had been my lips that moved, my voice that spoke.

"Because, Tongari. Just because."

* * *

I woke sometime later, the sun already creeping over my pillow and a sharp, aching pain in my stomach. I decided with a sigh it was time to get up, to let the obscure dance between myself, mother and Erick begin. She'd ask questions, we'd stay silent.

Just another day.

**R+R please**


End file.
